Cypresses
by Mikauzoran
Summary: Haibara refuses to go to an art exhibition because she's afraid of being recognized now that she's the same age she was when she shrank. Conan finally convinces her that the danger has passed with the fall of the Organization when they bump into someone who does recognize Miyano Shiho.


Mikau: Hello all! Thank you so much for taking a look at this piece. I did it for the Poirot Café forum's 5k Contest 45: Paint. My job has been literally killing me, albeit slowly, with the long hours, no breaks, and tons of stress, so I'm trying to take better care of myself by creating more balance in my life. Part of that is getting back into writing. That being said, I feel like I'm rusty, so I don't know that this is the best thing ever, but I think it's an interesting concept, so I hope you enjoy it. Thanks again for reading!

Disclaimer: I don't own Detective Conan, Magic Kaito, or Van Gogh's Cypresses. I kind of want a Van Gogh whenever I become obscenely rich. Or a Munch or Pissarro.

…

Cypresses

"No."

Conan blinked twice slowly. "But Ayumi said you wanted to go to the museum."

"Well, she was mistaken," Haibara replied quietly without looking up from her calculous homework.

Conan's eyes narrowed in suspicion. He grabbed her textbook and held it up high over her head so that she had to look at him. He was only a few inches taller, even after puberty, but it was just enough to thwart her attempts to snatch the book back.

"Ayumi said you've been talking about that exhibit for _weeks_ ," he pointedly announced.

She crossed her arms over her chest and glared ice at him.

Conan beamed triumphantly, setting the textbook back down on the counter.

"You can wipe that smirk off of your face, Edogawa-kun, because I'm not going, and that's final," Haibara huffed, grabbing her book and returning to her work.

Conan's grin morphed back into a frown. "No matter how many years I live, I will never understand women. You want to go, but you refuse to go. In what universe does that make sense?"

"The one where there are people who want to kill us," Haibara sighed in exasperation. "What is there not to understand?"

"The part where _They_ have been history for five years now?" Conan matched her frustrated tone. "Okay, I'm not going to say it's one hundred percent safe out there because there _are_ random, fragmented cells still clinging on to life, but there's no one still actively trying to kill us. Vermouth said it should be okay now."

"Like I'd trust anything that woman says," Haibara mumbled, fighting back a shudder as she opened back up to that night's assignment.

Seeing her reaction, Conan softened his tone. "Hey. You don't need to be afraid anymore. You're safe."

She shook her head. "I may look slightly different now due to growing up under different circumstances from the first time, but I am now the exact same age that I was when I shrank. If anyone is going to recognize me, it's going to be now."

Conan came around in front of her on the other side of the counter and took her face in his hands. "Haibara, no one's going to recognize you. You _are_ safe. You shouldn't let your fear keep you from enjoying life. What are you going to do? Sit around inside for the next decade or two? That's no life, and it wouldn't be what your sister would want for you."

Haibara pulled away, averting her eyes and biting her lip to keep the emotions from showing. "Don't bring her into this," she whispered.

"I failed her. I'm not failing you too," Conan insisted, taking off his glasses and depositing them on the bridge of Haibara's nose. "You want to go to the exhibition, so I'm taking you to the exhibition. I'll hold your hand the whole time, if it makes you feel more secure, but we're going, and you're gonna have a good time. You can't let _Them_ ruin this life too, Haibara."

She stared up at him, blinking in a bit of a daze as she adjusted the glasses with both hands. "Why are you so adamant about this?"

"Because you're my friend, and I care about you," he responded with a shrug and one of those winning grins that used to make girls swoon back when he had been Kudo Shinichi.

Haibara found herself averting her gaze again and fending off a self-conscious blush. How could he say things like that so easily?

"The kids have been worried about you lately too," Conan added a little reluctantly. "Ayumi asked me to talk to you."

Haibara grimaced. "Tell her I'm fine. She has more important things to be thinking about like boys and having fun with friends and what university she wants to go to."

"She's too young to think about boys," Conan growled protectively, the hair on the back of his neck coming to stand on end.

"Edogawa-kun, she's sixteen." Haibara held back a snicker, thinking, _"Besides, you're a little late. She's been thinking about boys since she was six."_

"She's a _baby_ ," he insisted passionately. "She's not allowed to date until she's twenty-five."

Haibara rolled her eyes, letting out the barest glimmer of a fond smile. "Thank you for caring, Edogawa-kun."

Conan raised an eyebrow in question. "About Ayumi?"

"That too." She did allow herself a chuckle that time. "All right. Let's go to the museum, but I'm holding you to your word. I'll have no complaints if I squeeze your arm so tight that I cut off circulation, and if at any point I feel threatened, we're leaving. I'm very serious about the fact that I don't feel comfortable around large groups of people."

"You got it," Conan readily agreed, giving her a thumbs up.

…

"You were serious about the whole squeezing my arm to death thing, weren't you?" Conan chuckled awkwardly that Sunday at the Van Gogh exhibit.

"Have you ever known me to joke?" Haibara raised an eyebrow.

He considered a minute and shuddered. "Only in a sadistic, not funny way."

"There you go then," she muttered, tugging him over to a painting of a large stand of dark trees. "This is one of the paintings he did in the last year of his life. It's on loan from the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York for the exhibit…. This is the one I had really wanted to see."

Conan nodded, taking in the thick paint, the contrast of the dark greens of the trees against the light blue sky, the soft hints of pink in the clouds, and the majestic purple of the mountains. It was a nice painting, and he certainly appreciated the cultural and monetary value of a Van Gogh, but when he saw the awe on Haibara's face, the flood of powerful emotions swirling in her eyes, he knew that he had no true appreciation for art. It had never moved him like that.

"This is probably silly," Haibara remarked in a hushed tone so quiet Conan almost didn't hear it over the bustle of the gallery. "but I feel connected to Van Gogh. The reason his work means so much to me is the depth of feeling he put into it. He was never recognized during his lifetime; he ended his life believing he was a failure…I feel like I can relate to his despair. He struggled and suffered, and so much beauty came out of his efforts. His art makes a difference, and he would have done so much more good, if he had lived."

She reached up and self-consciously tugged on the hood of her sweatshirt, pulling it to further cover her telltale tea blonde hair. "I despaired and gave up on my life too…only, I survived. It makes me think maybe something beautiful can come of my life too, now that I've been given this second chance."

Haibara shook her head and laughed softly at herself. "Like I said, it's silly. The romanticist in me."

Conan placed a hand on top of hers encircling his arm. "No, Haibara. It's not silly." He paused a minute, trying to pick just the right words to say to her, and was about to continue when a noisy young man trotted up to the next painting, interrupting Conan's train of thought.

"Here it is!" he called to his friend, lagging behind at a pace more appropriate to an indoor venue.

"Honestly, Kuroba. You're like a small child." The blonde gentleman came to stand closer than was traditionally acceptable to his companion, folding his arms across his chest as he studied the sunflower painting. "This is it?"

"Yep," Kuroba proudly declared with an exaggerated pop to his p.

The blonde lowered his voice, switching to English so as not to be overheard. "You nearly burned to death for _this_?"

Kuroba continued speaking in Japanese. "Smoke inhalation would have gotten me first, but…what do you me 'for _this_ '? It's a Van Gogh! A cultural treasure."

"Not worth risking your life over," the blonde snorted. "If I had been in the country, I would have stopped you."

It was then that Conan recognized Hakuba Saguru. It had been a good three to five years since he had last seen the half-British detective.

"You would have tried," Kuroba corrected, turning so that Conan could see his face in profile.

Conan was astounded to see a twenty-six year-old version of his own doppelganger. Judging from the line of conversation, this could only be KID five years after retirement.

"Besides," KID/Kuroba continued softly. "It was important to Jii-chan."

"So were _you_ ," Hakuba stressed, gently elbowing KID in the side.

There was a beat of meaningful silence that Conan couldn't hope to fully understand before Hakuba spoke again, this time in a cheery tone: "Well, it's a very nice painting. I'm glad it didn't burn."

"Me too," Kuroba responded in a decidedly chipper tone, letting a very KID-like smirk squeak out. "Buy me one for Christmas?"

Hakuba scoffed. "Like hell I'm buying you a Van Gogh for Christmas. Do you think I'm made of money?"

Kuroba looked at Hakuba blankly, blinked twice, and asked, "…You're not?"

Hakuba had just opened his mouth to reply when Conan made his decision and took the opportunity to call out, "Hakuba-san! What a pleasant surprise! It's been a few years. How are you doing?"

He was too curious to find out what Detective Hakuba was doing with the former Kaitou KID at an art museum to let this opportunity pass. Haibara would ticked at him, but he'd explain later, and she'd be fine once she realized that these were old acquaintances and not threats.

Hakuba and Kuroba both gave a start, taking a discreet step away from each other so that they were at an appropriate distance. A flash of recognition shot through both of their eyes, but that seemed to put them more on their guard.

Hakuba was the first to speak. "Is that Conan-kun? My how you've grown. The last time I saw you, you were—what?—eleven? Twelve? How are you?"

"Doing well. Getting ready to enter my final year of high school next April," Conan answered cheerfully, all the while surreptitiously observing KID.

He didn't fully register the way Haibara had tensed and was beginning to tremble.

Hakuba noticed the way Conan was sneaking peaks at his companion and awkwardly made introductions. "Kuroba, this is Edogawa Conan. You'll remember him as the KID Killer from several years back. Conan-kun, this is…uh…my partner, Officer Kuroba Kaito, also of Division Two."

Conan raised an eyebrow. "They let you be a real cop now instead of just impersonating one during heists?"

Kuroba's tension melted even as Hakuba's increased. The ex-thief smiled politely and purred, "I'm sure I have no idea what you mean. It's nice to meet you, Tantei-kun."

"Kuroba," Hakuba hissed under his breath.

Kuroba waved Hakuba away. "He _knows_. Lot of good it will do him. You've publicly denounced me before, and nothing came of it. What do I have to worry about so many years after the fact?"

Hakuba looked like he was about ready to start enumerating a long list, but he changed tactics, deciding it was best to distract everyone by taking the conversation in a new direction.

He bent down to meet Haibara's gaze under her hood and was just saying, "And who is your friend, Conan-kun?" when he recognized the face in front of him. His own went white.

"Shi…ho? Shiho-chan?"

Haibara finally released her death-like squeeze on Conan's arm, raising her hands to cover her face. She stopped halfway up, changing her mind and grabbing hold of Conan's forearm this time. She shook her head violently in denial. "I…No. I'm…not. I'm…"

Kuroba frowned, bending down to get a glimpse of Haibara's face. "Your cousin that went missing nearly a decade ago?" He went completely still when he saw her. "The girl from the train," he breathed.

Conan, meanwhile, was at an absolute loss. The entire world had gone sideways.

Luckily, KID thought faster than the rest of them. In English he explained, "She's in witness protection."

Hakuba blinked, looking back and forth between his partner and his cousin. "She is? How do _you_ know that?"

"She is!" Conan affirmed in his poor intonation English. He was a little jealous that KID's had gotten better over the past decade. He didn't think too hard about the fact that it had developed a slightly English accent as well.

"I helped fake her death a decade ago," Kuroba continued and then added, "I didn't know who she was, and you never showed me a picture, so don't be sore about it."

Hakuba frowned. "Should she be out in public?"

"That's what the hoodie is for," Haibara mumbled. "But it's probably fine. I've been out of immediate danger for the past five years."

" _Finally she admits it."_ Conan mentally rolled his eyes.

Hakuba turned on Kuroba. "How exactly did you help?"

Kuroba averted his eyes. "You wouldn't like it, so I'm not going to tell you."

"Should we even be discussing this here?" This Hakuba directed at Conan.

Conan smiled sheepishly. "Probably not? If you like, we could all go back to the Professor's house after the exhibit and talk things out. I'm sure you and Haibara have a lot of catching up to do." It suddenly occurred to Conan that he should probably consult Haibara before inviting her estranged cousin over to her house. "I mean," he added hastily, "if you want, that is."

To his surprise, Haibara nodded slowly. "I'd like that very much. Saguru-kun?"

Hakuba nodded as if coming out of a daze. "Yes! Yes, of course. That would be splendid."

The two groups merged, walking through the rest of the exhibition together. At one point when the cousins were discussing a painting featuring a view from Van Gogh's window in Montmartre, Kuroba fell back beside Conan.

His lips barely moved as he muttered, "Look, I know he has a right to know what happened to his cousin, but I don't want him involved with _Them_. I've worked hard keeping him in the dark about _Their_ very existence for ten years, and I don't want him in any kind of danger, even if _Their_ main branch did go under years ago. Okay?"

Conan looked up at his rival, narrowing his eyes as he took in Kuroba's worried expression: the way his eyes subtly crinkled in concern, the slight tension in his jaw.

"Don't worry," Conan assured as quietly as he could manage. "Haibara wouldn't dream of putting him in danger either."

"Good to know," Kuroba sighed, turning to really look at the painting the others were studying. "It's really blue. Paris isn't that blue. Sure, there are a lot of cute blue roofs, but it doesn't look like that. Is this the thing where the blue curtains symbolize the author's depression?"

Hakuba frowned at him, shook his head, and didn't answer. He did, however, softly mutter, "Often the curtains really are just blue," under his breath so the others couldn't hear him clearly.

The

End


End file.
